by T. R. Cupak
“Which side of the family is she from? Your mom’s or dad’s?”
“What?” He opens the patio door. “I don’t know. My dad’s.”
“Which is it—you don’t know or your dad’s?” I’m a cop, I expect direct answers.
He lets the door close. “Who cares.” He kisses my cheek. “You’re about to meet my mother. You’re going to need to focus.”
Chapter Three
I stop at the opening to the kitchen. It’s as large as any restaurant kitchen I’ve ever seen. It smells like one too.
“Mama.” Marcus walks in ahead of me. I grip his hand like we’re walking on the edge of a cliff.
Several women, with the same eyes and smile, watch as we approach Mrs. Arini from behind. One pulls out a camera.
“Que?” She looks up wondering why the kitchen has gone quiet. She turns around and nearly drops the knife in her hand. “Mijo!”
“Mama, this is Scarlet.” He presents me the way he did his bird.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Arini.” I hold out my hand.
She brings her hand to meet mine.
“¡Ay!” Marcus yells and removes the knife from her hand.
“Excuse me, I’m cooking.” Her accent is thick and her tone unfriendly. “Nice to meet you.” She offers a curt nod.
“I’m Tia Paulita.” A friendly face smiles from across the kitchen. “You can call me Paula.” She moves around the butcher block to hug me then moves on to Marcus.
“Very pretty.” She kisses Marcus on the cheek.
“Gracias, tia.”
Clearly, his aunt is the nice one.
“Are you married to Johnny?
“Que?” Paula looks at me like I’m crazy.
“I just assumed, sorry. I thought you were married to…”
Another lady babbles in Spanish then the kitchen erupts in laughter.
Marcus shakes his head. “Johnny is her brother.”
“Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry.” I try to laugh it off, but Mrs. Arini is scowling at me. She starts speaking really fast to Marcus.
I don’t catch any words I understand, but I can tell the exchange isn’t pleasant. She finally stops and turns back to chopping.
“She likes you,” Marcus lies. “Come on, let’s go get a drunk.”
We settle at a table with a bottle of tequila.
“Worse case scenario, we sleep here.” Marcus pours two shots. Then yells to a couple of kids to bring us an orange from one of the trees. One climbs the tree like a pro, pulls a few down, and tosses them to his partner.
They argue in Spanish about which one is best. I realize my comprehension of the language is elementary because I understand everything they’re saying. The older looking one is trying to convince Marcus his orange is juicer, the other one says his mama is juicy. They begin to fight.
“Halto!” Marcus demands, and they stop. “Mira.” He hands them each a dollar then flicks his wrist. They run back to the playground.
“Whose kids are they?”
“Everyone’s.” Marcus dismisses the question as he pulls out a pocket knife and cuts an orange. “This tequila is pretty good. You won’t need the orange but just in case.” He winks.
I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but I also don’t want to sleep here tonight.
“I have a two-shot maximum. Either we take both now, or one now and one later. You decide.”
It’s still early. I’ll work the alcohol out of my system by the time I leave.
“One now and one after.” His playful expression makes me smile.
“After what?”
“After whatever.”
I’m intrigued. The estate is vast, and there are a lot of secluded areas to sneak off to. My girly parts are hoping Marcus has a little sexy time planned for later. He places the shot in front of me along with an orange wedge.
“Arriba.” He lifts the glass above his head. “Abajo.” He lowers it just above the table. “Al Centro.” He moves it in front of me like to say cheers. “Adentro!” He takes the shot. “Now you.”
“I don’t want to do it alone,” I pout. “Now you have to have another.”
“No.” He calls over some men from the other side of the yard and instructs them to bring a glass to have some tequila with me.
Once all the men have a shot, he starts the toast. They all join in.
“Arriba, abajo, al centro, adentro!”
This time I drink mine. How could I not?
Marcus rewards them with the bottle.
“Salud!” they say as they return to their side of the yard.
“Hey, what about our second shot?” After that rousing toast, I’m ready to ditch my rule.
He moves to my side of the table. “Don’t worry, there’s more where that came from.”
We watch the boys play soccer in the dirt, cheering when someone falls or makes a goal. When one of them skins a knee, he yells for his mother and runs around the side of the house. At this point I realize, other than the few women hanging all over Johnny and his crew, there are no women in the yard. Anxiety kicks in. I’m that one chick at a party who doesn’t help—the one sitting in the same chair in the corner the entire night, watching the hostess work her ass off to make sure everyone has a drink, that the food isn’t getting cold. I’m the lazy puta.
I check my phone for the time. It’s almost four. I’ve seen men carry trays of cooked meat to the house three or four times. Other than tamales, chips and salsa are the only items on the table. The women in the kitchen are preparing a feast, which has to be done soon. I don’t have much time to offer help
“Should I go help your mom in the kitchen?”
“God, no.” Marcus clutches my side. “My mother is very particular about who she lets in her cocina.”
“I feel like I should be doing something.”
“You are.” He kisses my temple. “You’re keeping me company.”
“Marcus,” I whine.
“You are a guest. Nothing is expected of you…yet.” His mischievous smile makes my thighs warm. “It’s still early. Nobody’s even here yet.”
“Seriously?”
“This fiesta is for my father. We always have a party when he returns from Mexico. Everyone should be here by sunset.”
I stereotypically assumed his family gathered together every weekend.
“He’s been gone three months, so today is a big deal. I can’t wait for him to meet you. It’s perfect.”
The kids run to our table yelling in Spanish. They want Marcus to play with them. I can tell from their casual demeanor, it’s something he often does with the boys.
“Go,” I insist. “I’ll be fine.”
Marcus kisses me on the lips and the boys oh and awe.
“Vamos!” he yells and runs off to play.
Once Marcus is deep into the game, I make my move. Under the false pretense that I’m looking for the bathroom, I make my way back to the kitchen to offer my assistance. I’m just outside the door when I hear a commotion. I look in and see Mrs. Arini in the arms of a man. She’s telling him she missed him and that he looks fat.
The ladies leave, giving them a private reunion. Almost private. I stay just outside the door, listening, piecing together words and expressions. They speak too quickly or too low for me to make sense of anything they say. Suddenly the side door flies open and Johnny bursts in.
“Where’s my son!” he yells.
Mr. Arini tries to calm him down. Whatever he’s telling his brother isn’t working. I catch a few words here and there. He was crossing the border at El Paso and was stopped.
Johnny argues his son wouldn’t do that. He knows better. Mr. Arini says his personal truck broke down, so he was in a company truck—he drew attention.
They lost a shipment. No—border patrol seized a shipment. I recognize the word from hearing it around the station - apoderarse de.
Why would border patrol seize a shipment of fruit?
Johnny starts yelling. He says Marcus
’s name several times, then another word I know—one I just learned today—guacamayo.
“What are you doing?” A heavily accented woman appears beside me. She looks into the kitchen, then back to me.
“I’m looking for the bathroom.”
She points to the door on my right. She isn’t polite, and her accent isn’t really Spanish. Her blonde hair and blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, as sullen as they are, give her an Eastern European look.
“Thanks.” I smile as friendly as I can. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” I open the bathroom door and turn on the light.
“Anya,” she says.
“Of course,” I smirk. “Do you work for the Arinis?”
Anya’s cold blue eyes stare through me. If we were in a bar or on the street, I’d probably be worried. Then I remember—I’m a cop. She should be concerned. I’ll bet all the money in my bank account she knows who I am and she doesn’t like me.
Marcus and I rarely speak about my job. It’s the last thing I want to do when we’re together. I’m over telling war stories about vagrants and the occasional car theft. My job never seems to concern him. Why would it? He’s not a criminal.
In the safety of the bathroom, I process the information I’ve just discovered. A shipment was seized, but what? I replay the conversation again, trying to recall something familiar. I open my phone and text Theresa. Her ex-boyfriend works for Homeland Security, and he’s stationed at the border in Imperial Beach.
Me: Favor – can you ask Pete if people illegally smuggle birds from Mexico?
Theresa: Uh, yeah. They smuggle them in water bottles it’s horrible. Pete actually seized a shipment back in February. Why?
Me: Just curious.
I hear Marcus in the hallway. He asks someone where I am. They don’t know.
Me: I have to go. Text you later. Kthxbye
Theresa: Wait! Why do you want to know? Does this have anything to do with Marcus?
Me: No, why? Did you find something?
Theresa is notorious for her stalking, I mean, investigative skills.
Theresa: Yes, but I think we should discuss in person. There’s a lot.
Fuck my life. I knew he was too good to be true.
Me: Tell me now. I need to know.
It takes three minutes for her to reply.
Theresa: Arini Imports is currently under federal investigation. My fuck-buddy from narcotics let it slip when I told him you were going to meet Marcus Arini.
Oh, lord. I knew telling Theresa was a mistake. The woman can’t keep her mouth shut. Gossip is in her DNA. I don’t have time to dwell on her big mouth. I need to know what exactly they have on the Arinis and who is being investigated.
Me: Is it just the import company?
Theresa: From what he said, yes. They don’t just import veggies. They dabble in prostitution, drugs, there’s a long list of illegal goods.
Me: That is run by his uncle.
Theresa: But that doesn’t mean Marcus is clean. Be careful, Scar. If I were you, I’d come down with a bad case of diarrhea.
Ironically, Theresa would shit herself if she knew I was at his family’s estate right now.
Me: Thanks, T. I’ll text you when I get home.
I close my phone and sit on the toilet to contemplate my next move. An amazing, sexy, compassionate, man loves me, and I have to tell him we can never see each other again. Cops date ex-felons all the time. Dating a member of a smuggling operation draws a red flag. Technically, Marcus is innocent until proven guilty. If I hadn’t seen the bird aviary in his parent’s backyard, I might lean to the side of innocent. There is no possible way Marcus is oblivious to his family’s illegal activity. He knows everything there is to know about those birds, even where they came from.
I exit the bathroom and find the hall empty, as well as the kitchen. Everyone is outside. My return to the backyard is inconspicuous. The main focus is on Mr. Arini. He takes his wife to the center the yard and yells something in Spanish.
It’s a song. A ballad begins, and he offers her his hand. She takes it, and they start a dance. The gesture, their movements, the look on his face as he admires his wife—it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.
“There you are.” Marcus creeps up behind me and wraps his arms around my body. Encases me. “Are you feeling okay?” He probably thinks I took a dump or puked. Either is better than the truth.
“I’m fine.” I clear my throat to prepare my act. “Actually, my throat—”
“Watch this.” He points to his parents. “Papa is going to present her a flower. A single red rose. It’s their thing. When he proposed to my mother, he was so poor he couldn’t afford a ring or even a dozen roses. Just one. He gave it to her with a promise that if she said yes, one day he could give her a thousand roses. Even though he can afford to give her what he promised all at once, the gesture of bringing her a single rose renews his commitment to her.”
“That’s really beautiful, Marcus. But I’m not—”
Suddenly, someone yells Marcus’s name.
“Please don’t kill me,” he says as he drags me to the center of the yard.
New faces, smiling ones, female ones, welcome me into their fold. They clap and whistle as Marcus presents me to his father.
“Papa, this is Scarlet Macaw.” He smiles every time he says my name. “Fate brought us together.” He rubs his hand over the tattoo on his arm.
The first time we met was at the Imperial Beach Farmers’ Market. I stopped to buy avocados from his stand and asked him what kind of bird was tattooed on his arm. He told me it was his favorite bird—a scarlet macaw.
“Linda is my spirit animal, and you are my soulmate.” He gets down on one knee. Takes my hand, and pulls a ring from his pocket. “This belonged to my abuela.” He holds the ruby and diamond ring at the tip of my finger.
I feel so many emotions.
So many eyes on me.
“Scarlet Macaw,” he laughs. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
My hand is shaking. My heart is jackhammering. I’ve imagined this moment since I was a little girl playing princess. Marcus is better than any prince Disney could create. He is the man of my dreams. I know with every fiber of my being that if I don’t say yes, I will regret it for the rest of my life. Whatever becomes of the information Theresa gave me, I won’t deny myself this moment, this night.
“Yes,” I cry. “Yes, I will be your wife.”
He slides the ring on my finger then lifts me in the air.
“She said yes!” he yells in Spanish.
The crowd cheers as he spins me around.
I barely have time to catch my breath when someone hands me a shot glass. I get it now. He was saving the shot for this.
His father approaches and pats Marcus on the back. He tells him he’s proud in Spanish. “Now, you will have your store.”
I’m confused. “A store?”
“Yes, I’ve always wanted a pet store, specializing in birds.”
So, I’m going to be the wife of a pet store owner. I can live with that. It’s safe. As long as the birds are acquired legally.
“Gracias, papa. I won’t let you down.” Marcus shows an enormous amount of respect to his father.
“Welcome to the family, Scarlet. My boy, he loves you.” Mr. Arini’s smile feels warm and genuine. I can’t imagine this man running an illegal bird smuggling operation.
I look through the crowd for Johnny and Anya. They’re not part of the celebration. I recall the conversation from the kitchen; his son was arrested in El Paso. If I’m marrying into this family, I need to know why.
“I’m going to run to my car really quick. I forgot my Chapstick.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, stay.” I point to a group of men waiting to get his attention. “They want to congratulate you.”
I spin the rock on my finger in circles as I make my way to the front of the house. Luckily, no one noticed when I emptied my shot g
lass in the dirt before the toast. I click my key fob and unlock the doors. The sun is below the mountains; my headlights shine on Marcus’s Audi. He’s blocked in by a Hummer, but I still have enough room to get out. I’m thinking one step ahead. I get in the car and lock the doors out of habit.
Me: T – I need to call you.
Two seconds later my phone rings.
“Please tell me you’re home.” Theresa sounds frantic.
“Not quite yet.”
“I just got a call from Leon.”
“Who’s Leon?”
“My fuck-buddy!” She is exasperated. “They’re moving on the Arinis tonight!”
“Wait, what do you mean?”
“The task force plans to make a huge bust at the Arini office in Imperial Beach and the residence. Someone flipped. They have a shitload of evidence against Marcus’s father.” She pauses so I can soak it all in. “He implicated Marcus too, Scar. I’m so sorry.”
It has to be Johnny’s son who flipped. Even if he’s implicating Marcus out of spite, that’s enough to have him arrested.
“At least things didn’t get too serious, right?” Theresa is digging.
“Yeah, I’m lucky.”
“Call me if you need anything. Ice cream, wine…I got you.”
“Thank you, T.”
We hang up, and I bang my head on the steering wheel. The horn honks and a head pops up from the backseat of Marcus’s car. Then a girl pops up.
“Sorry,” I yell to them. They go back to making out.
There are kids here, innocent children. I know what happens when the feds raid—everyone goes to jail. They will destroy the house, impound all the cars. It doesn’t matter when or how the birds arrived in this country, they will be considered evidence of a crime.
If I tell Marcus anything, even hint there is a raid, I will be aiding and abetting. Feds usually raid at night, late night to catch their suspects off-guard. I check the time on my phone, it’s almost five. The sun will set within the hour. I have to get out of here.